The Mysterious Island, Jules Verne [classic novels .txt] 📗

of events, thus grouped together, gave them the greatest surprise.

“Upon my faith,” said Pencroff, at length, “you are right, Mr. Smith, and it is hard to explain those things.”

“Very well, my friends,” continued the engineer, “one thing more is to be added, not less incomprehensible than the others!”

“What is that?” demanded Herbert, eagerly.

“When you returned from Tabor Island, Pencroff, you say that you saw a light on Lincoln Island?”

“Certainly I did.”

“And you are perfectly sure that you saw it?”

“As sure as that I see you.”

“And you, Herbert?”

“Why, Mr. Smith,” cried Herbert, “it shone like a star of the first magnitude!”

“But was it not a star?” insisted the engineer.

“No,” replied Pencroff, “because the sky was covered with heavy clouds, and, under any circumstances, a star would not have been so low on the horizon. But Mr. Spilett saw it, and he can confirm what we say.”

“I would add,” said the reporter, “that it was as bright as an electric light.”

“Yes, and it was certainly placed above Granite House!” exclaimed Herbert.

“Very well, my friends,” replied Smith, “during all that night neither Neb nor I lit any fire at all!”

“You did not!—” cried Pencroff, so overcome with astonishment that he could not finish the sentence.

“We did not leave Granite House, and if any fire appeared upon the coast, it was lit by another hand!”

The others were stupefied with amazement. Undoubtedly a mystery existed! Some inexplicable influence, evidently favorable to the colonists, but exciting their curiosity, made itself felt upon Lincoln Island. Was there then some being hidden in its innermost retreats? They wished to know this, cost what it might!

Smith also recalled to his companions the singular actions of Top and Jup, about the mouth of the well, and he told them that he had explored its depths without discovering anything. And the conversation ended by a determination, on the part of the colonists, to make a thorough search of the island as soon as the spring opened.

After this Pencroff became moody. This island, which he had looked upon as his own, did not belong to him alone, but was shared by another, to whom, whether he would or not, the sailor felt himself inferior. Neb and he often discussed these inexplicable circumstances, and readily concluded that Lincoln Island was subject to some supernatural influence.

The bad weather began early, coming in with May; and the winter occupations were undertaken without delay. The colonists were well protected from the rigor of the season. They had plenty of felt clothing, and the moufflons had furnished a quantity of wool for its further manufacture.

Ayrton had been comfortably clothed, and when the bad weather began, he had returned to Granite House; but he remained humble and sad, never joining in the amusements of his companions.

The most of this third winter was passed by the colonists indoors at Granite House. The storms were frequent and terrible, the sea broke over the islet, and any ship driven upon the coast would have been lost without any chance of rescue. Twice the Mercy rose to such a height that the bridge and causeways were in danger of destruction. Often the gusts of wind, mingled with snow and rain, damaged the fields and the poultry-yard, and made constant repairs necessary.

In the midst of this season, some jaguars and quadrumanes came to the very border of the plateau, and there was danger of the bolder of these beasts making a descent on the fields and domestic animals of the colonists. So that a constant watch had to be kept upon these dangerous visitors, and this, together with the work indoors, kept the little party in Granite House busy.

Thus the winter passed, with now and then a grand hunt in the frozen marshes of Tadorn’s Fen. The damage done to the corral during the winter was unimportant, and was soon repaired by Ayrton, who, in the latter part of October, returned there to spend some days at work.

The winter had passed without any new incident. Top and Jup passed by the well without giving any sign of anxiety, and it seemed as if the series of supernatural events had been interrupted. Nevertheless, the colonists were fixed in their determination to make a thorough exploration of the most inaccessible parts of the island, when an event of the gravest moment, which set aside all the plans of Smith and his companions, happened.

It was the 28th of October. Spring was rapidly approaching, and the young leaves were appearing on the trees on the edge of the forest. Herbert, tempted by the beauty of the day, determined to take a photograph of Union Bay, as it lay facing Prospect Plateau, between Mandible and Claw Capes.

It was 3 o’clock, the horizon was perfectly clear, and the sea, just stirred by the breeze, scintillated with light. The instrument had been placed at one of the windows of Granite House, and the lad, having secured his negative, took the glass into the dark room, where the chemicals were kept, in order to fix it. Returning to the light, after this operation, he saw a speck on the plate, just at the horizon, which he was unable to wash out.

“It is a defect in the glass,” he thought.

And then he was seized by a curiosity to examine this speck by means of a magnifying glass made from one of the lenses of the instrument.

Hardly had he given one look, when, uttering a cry of amazement, he ran with the plate and the glass to Smith. The latter examined the speck, and immediately seizing the spy-glass hurried to the window.

The engineer, sweeping the horizon with the glass, found the speck, and spoke one word. “A ship!”

In truth, a ship was in sight of Lincoln Island.

PART III THE SECRET OF THE ISLAND CHAPTER XLIII.

LOST OR SAVED?—AYRTON RECALLED—IMPORTANT DISCUSSION—IT IS NOT THE DUNCAN—SUSPICION AND PRECAUTION—APPROACH OF THE SHIP—A CANNON SHOT—THE BRIG ANCHORS IN SIGHT OF THE ISLAND—NIGHT FALL.

Two years and a half ago, the castaways had been thrown on Lincoln Island; and up to this time they had been cut off from their kind. Once the reporter had attempted to establish communication with the civilized world, by a letter tied to the neck of a bird; but this was an expedient on whose success they could place no reliance. Ayrton, indeed, under the circumstances which have been related, had joined the little colony. And now, on the 17th of October, other men had appeared within sight of the island, on that desert sea! There could be no doubt of it; there was a ship, but would she sail away into the offing, or put in shore? The question would soon be decided. Smith and Herbert hastened to call the others into the great hall of Granite House, and inform them of what had been observed. Pencroff seized the spy-glass and swept the horizon till his gaze fell upon the point indicated.

“No doubt of it, she’s a ship!” said he in a tone of no great pleasure.

“Is she coming towards us?” asked Spilett.

“Impossible to say yet,” replied Pencroff, “for only her sails are visible; her hull is below the horizon.

“What must we do?” said the boy.

“We must wait,” said Smith.

And for a time which seemed interminable, the colonists remained in silence, moved alternately by fear and hope. They were not in the situation of castaways upon a desert island, constantly struggling with niggardly Nature for the barest means of living, and always longing to got back to their fellow-men. Pencroff and Neb, especially, would have quitted the island with great regret. They were made, in truth, for the new life which they were living in a region civilized by their own exertions! Still, this ship would bring them news of the Continent; perhaps it was an American vessel; assuredly it carried men of their own race, and their hearts beat high at the thought!

From time to time, Pencroff went to the window with the glass. From thence he examined the ship carefully. She was still twenty miles to the east, and they had no means of communication with her. Neither flag nor fire would have been seen; nor would the report of a gun be heard. Yet the island, with Mount Franklin towering high above it, must be visible to the lookout men on the ship. But why should the vessel land there? Was it not mere chance which brought it into that part of the Pacific, out of the usual track, and when Tabor Island was the only land indicated on the maps? But here a suggestion came from Herbert.

“May it not be the Duncan?” cried he.

The Duncan, as our readers will remember, was Lord Glenarvan’s yacht, which had abandoned Ayrton on the islet, and was one day to come back for him. Now the islet was not so far from Lincoln Island but that a ship steering for one might pass within sight of the other. They were only 150 miles distant in longitude, and 75 in latitude.

“We must warn Ayrton,” said Spilett, “and tell him to come at once. Only he can tell us whether she is the Duncan.”

This was every one’s opinion, and the reporter, going to the telegraph apparatus, which communicated with the corral, telegraphed. “Come at once.” Soon the wire clicked, “I am coming.” Then the colonists turned again to watch the ship.

“If it is the Duncan,” said Herbert, “Ayrton will readily recognize her, since he was aboard her so long.”

“It will make him feel pretty queer!” said Pencroff.

“Yes,” replied Smith, “but Ayrton is now worthy to go on board again, and may Heaven grant it to be indeed the Duncan! These are dangerous seas for Malay pirates.”

“We will fight for our island,” said Herbert.

“Yes, my boy,” answered the engineer, smiling, “but it will be better not to have to fight for her.”

“Let me say one thing,” said Spilett. “Our island is unknown to navigators, and it is not down in the most recent maps. Now, is not that a good reason for a ship which unexpectedly sighted it to try to run in shore?”

“Certainly,” answered Pencroff.

“Yes,” said the engineer, “it would even be the duty of the captain to report the discovery of any island not on the maps, and to do this he must pay it a visit.”

“Well,” said Pencroff, “suppose this ship casts anchor within a few cables’ length of our island, what shall we do?”

This downright question for a while remained unanswered. Then Smith, after reflection, said in his usual calm tone:—

“What we must do, my friends, is this. We will open communication with the ship, take passage on board of her, and leave our island, after having taken possession of it in the name of the United States of America.

Afterwards we will return with a band of permanent colonists, and endow our Republic with a useful station on the Pacific!”

“Good!” said Pencroff, “that will be a pretty big present to our country! We have really colonized it already. We have named every part of the island; there is a natural port, a supply of fresh water, roads, a line of telegraph, a wood yard, a foundry; we need only put the island on the maps!”

“But suppose some one else should occupy it while we are gone?” said Spilett.

“I would sooner stay here alone to guard it,” cried the sailor, “and, believe me, they would not steal it from me, like a watch from a gaby’s pocket!”

For the next hour, it was impossible to say whether or not the vessel was making for the island. She had drawn nearer, but Pencroff could not make out her course. Nevertheless, as the wind blew from the northeast, it seemed probable that she was on the starboard tack. Besides, the breeze blew straight for the landing, and the sea was so calm that she would not hesitate to steer for the island, though the soundings were not laid down in the charts.

About 4 o’clock, an hour after he had been telegraphed for, Ayrton arrived. He entered the great hall, saying, “Here I am, gentlemen.”

Smith shook hands with him, and drawing him to the window, “Ayrton,” said he, “we sent for you for a weighty reason. A ship is within sight of the island.”

For a moment Ayrton looked pale, and his eyes were troubled. Then he stooped down and gazed around the horizon.

“Take this spy-glass,” said Spilett, “and look well, Ayrton, for it may be the Duncan come to take you home.”

“The Duncan!” murmured Ayrton. “Already!”

The last word escaped him involuntarily and he buried his face in his hands. Did not twelve years’ abandonment on a desert island seem to him a sufficient expiation?

“No,” said he, “no, it cannot be the Duncan.”

“Look, Ayrton,” said the engineer, “for we must know beforehand with whom